Wherever I Go
by Rabiscar
Summary: On a rainy night after the death of Dumbledore, Hermione frets over what the future has in store. When she goes to check on Ron and Harry, an unusually tender moment between the ginger fellow and bushy haired lass ensues. A What Could Have Been one-shot.


Disclaimer: JK owns all.  
A/N: Book 7 Disregarded.

Hermione lifted her head from her pillow, and looked grudgingly at the rain-spattered window. A summer thunderstorm had woken her up when it rumbled overhead earlier that morning, and she had been unable to fall asleep since. She was fairly confidant that the rest of the household was sleeping peacefully. The Weasleys were notorious for being heavy sleepers, with the exception of Mrs. Weasley who was truly a Prewett at heart.

Hermione threw her legs over the side of the bed and shrugged a cardigan on over her nightdress. She shivered despite the woolly sweater and she knew that it had nothing to do with the temperature. Even in the homey warmth of The Burrow, Hermione was unable to shake the sickening feeling of dread. Voldemort, the most powerful dark wizard in history was alive, while Dumbledore, the only one he ever feared, was dead.

Hermione had been glad to return to the Burrow for the summer. She couldn't imagine what it would be like if she had to stay at home all summer, waiting by the window for owls from Ron and Harry and skimming the newspaper by herself every morning to see if anything terrible had happened. Even with her friends so close at hand, she found it difficult to sleep. With so much to think and worry about, she spent many nights tossing and turning. Knowing full well that she was not going to be able to doze off, she got to her feet and padded quietly towards Ron's bedroom, before easing the door open.

"Whoosair?" a voice called in the dark.

"Harry?" she whispered, "Is that you?"

"No." was the murmured response, "It's me. Hermione?"

Hermione pulled her cardigan tightly around her, and squinted into the dark room.

"Where are you?" she asked.

"In bed, where else?" Ron said in exasperation. "Don't step on Harry!" he warned hoarsely.

Hermione tiptoed towards his voice with her arms outstretched like a child playing Blind Man's Bluff.

"Harry's right there!" Ron called.

Hermione caught herself just in time and did a flying leap over the sleeping Harry nestled in his camp bed. It would have been very graceful had she not banged her shins in collision with Ron's bed.

"Ow!" she gasped.

"Whussamatter?" Ron asked groggily. Hermione clambered onto the bed and fell heavily onto Ron's leg.

"Hey!" he yelped.

"Sorry!"

"What the bloody hell-"

"Shhhhhh!" Hermione hissed and slapped her finger to her mouth. She crawled over Ron's legs, sat on the bed with her back against the wall, and crossed her legs Indian style. Ron shifted over to sit against the wall with her, but his long, gangly legs dangled over the side of the bed. His ginger hair stuck up at the back from sleeping, and he had a crease on his cheek from lying crookedly on his pillow. He gave Hermione a lopsided grin and she stifled a laugh while wondering what her own bushy hair must look like.

"What are you doing up so early?" he asked while rubbing his eyes sleepily.

Hermione shrugged, "The rain woke me up and I couldn't fall back asleep."

Ron nodded tiredly and they sat together in silence for a few minutes.

"I just hate it." Hermione said suddenly, wringing her hands together nervously.

"Hate what?" Ron asked curiously.

"I hate not knowing when I'm leaving, or where I'll be going, or how long I'll be gone," she answered wearily, "Just makes me feel helpless. Doesn't it make you?" she asked.

"Not really," he said slowly, "I mean, wherever I go, you're going to be there," he said decisively as if that settled the matter.

Hermione made a small squeaking noise, and Ron suddenly looked wide-awake and alert.

"Er- So's Harry," he added hastily, "So I reckon I don't really mind where we're going or any of that if we're all going together," he finished gruffly.

Hermione nodded and pulled her knees to her chest, looking momentarily reassured. However within a minute, her face was full of concern again.

"Ron?" she asked.

He looked towards her.

"You won't do anything stupid and noble will you?" she asked.

"What do you mean will I do anything stupid?" Ron demanded, his voice rising indignantly.

"Shhh!" Hermione hissed again, her eyes darting towards Harry. "I mean like in first year, during the chess game - when you let the queen take you so Harry could get the stone!" she whispered fiercely.

Ron's face softened and his ears burned red.

"Well," he mumbled, "I might have to, er- you know- if doing it means helping Harry stop You-Know-Who," he said while staring down at his hands.

Both of them were painfully avoiding the word "die".

Hermione threw her hands around Ron's neck and he patted her back awkwardly.

"Hermione!" he spluttered, "I'm gonna be fine!" he cried incredulously.

"You don't know that Ron!" she said drawing away from him so she could look at him. "We're fighting Voldemort. There's a pretty good chance we're all going to die!" she said shrilly and buried her face in his neck once again.

Ron winced at hearing her last statement and tightened his hold on her waist. He sighed in a resigned sort of way, and screwed up his face thoughtfully.

"Just don't think about that stuff," he said finally, "Think of something else, like er. . .a nice new book?" he suggested.

Hermione snorted but relaxed her grip on him.

"Or. . .new parchment and freshly mown grass!" he continued with a sudden stroke of inspiration.

Hermione flushed. "Yeah? Well what do you smell when you sniff Amortentia?" She retorted.

"Nothing," Ron mumbled, ducking his head down. He hadn't been expecting that to backfire so quickly and hastened to speak before she could question him further.

"Doesn't matter," he said dismissively, "Think of the wedding and all the food mum's going to cook!" he told her, eager to keep her away from thoughts of Death Eaters and Voldemort.

"Only you could be comforted by thoughts of a feast while a war is waging," Hermione laughed.

"Fine," Ron said stubbornly and tried to think of a suitable distraction, "Er, what about your new wedding shoes," he offered.

Hermione snickered and shook her head disapprovingly.

"Well Fleur always cheers up when she talks about shoes," he muttered and rubbed his long nose embarrassedly. "Then think of. . .all the dancing we- you'll do." he said before his ears began to redden in a tell tale way.

Hermione raised an eyebrow and looked at him expectantly.

"Er, you know with Harry, and Fred, or George, and er me if you'd like. . ." he trailed off and hung his head as his face went from red to crimson to bright scarlet.

There was a moment's silence before Hermione touched him lightly on the arm whispering "I would like to."

Ron lifted his head to look at her uncertainly and she nodded with a small smile. A sheepish grin was slowly starting to spread across Ron's face and Hermione stifled a laugh.

"What?" Ron asked defensively.

Hermione shook her head and laughed into his shoulder, shaking violently as she tried to quell her silence the giggling. Ron rolled his eyes and heaved an exasperated sigh but wrapped his arms snugly around her middle. Hermione leaned her head comfortably on his chest and her laughter subsided.

"Are you going to be okay?" Ron teased.

"Yeah," Hermione said, sobering quickly. "Just so long as wherever I go, you're going to be there."


End file.
